


The Thunderstorm

by FloreatCastellum



Series: Slice of Life One-Shots [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward First Times, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, My First Smut, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloreatCastellum/pseuds/FloreatCastellum
Summary: A summer storm might have kept Harry awake, but it can also hide all sorts of glorious noises.





	The Thunderstorm

The rain battered the window relentlessly, thunder gently rolling behind the clatter. A flash of lightning lit up the orange room, where Harry lay, still awake in these early hours, staring at the ceiling.

Ron and Hermione had left for Australia earlier that day, so for once he found himself in a room of his own in the Burrow. Perhaps it was the absence of Ron’s snores, or the thunder, or the three short weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, but he found himself unable to sleep. His mind leaped from nightmarish flashbacks to his flat hunt with Ron to worries about Teddy to Ginny.

Ginny.

It had not been the sunlit days of his sixth year. How could it be, between so many funerals and slow walks as they gradually shared their experiences over the past year? The closest they had come was last week, in Godric’s Hollow, when she had made him laugh. In that brief day, despite where they were, they had been themselves again.

He thought he heard a creak outside the door, but it came with another almighty clap of thunder. The sound of it, and the flash of bright white light made Voldemort’s face appear suddenly in his mind. He sighed, and sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and resting his elbows on his knees.

There was that creak again.

Suddenly as alert as a gun dog, he grabbed his wand and silently stood, heart thudding.

He didn’t reach for his glasses, worried that whoever was out there would hear him picking them up. He just carefully approached the door, treading lightly, wand raised ready to strike. He timed it with the beginnings of a new rumble of thunder, wrenching the door open as it reached a crescendo.

‘Expelli- Ginny?’

She had squeaked, jumping about a foot into the air. 'Fuck,’ she breathed, one hand on her chest as the thunder rolled away. 'Fuck, Harry, you looked bloody terrifying.’

'What are you doing?’ he whispered.

'I couldn’t sleep so I…’ Even in the darkness he saw her pale, freckled cheeks turn red. 'I thought I would see if you were up.’

He glanced down the stairs, convinced he would see Mrs Weasley glaring up at them, but upon seeing nothing he pulled her into the bedroom.

'Are you ok?’ He asked, turning on the lamp. A low, warm glow pooled over the bed.

She sat, in blue cotton pyjama bottoms and an oversized Quidditch top. 'Not really,’ she said. 'You?’

'Not really,’ he echoed, sitting next to her.

They hugged one another, feeling each other’s slow steady breathing, listening to the deep, booming thunder and rattle of rain. Then, she looked up at him. Her brown eyes shone with gold flecks in the lamp light, and he found that his hand moved, seemingly without his say so, to brush her soft hair off the side of her face. She had that blazing look. He was not sure if he leant down or she pushed herself up, but suddenly they were kissing.

That blissful oblivion was back, the noise of the storm outside sinking into nothingness, she became everything. He was barely aware of what he was doing, all he could think of was keeping her there, holding her, making the most of the feel of her lips and her hands and the scent of her hair. Perhaps part of him still believed that he would have to leave, to go back to camping in some forgotten corner of the country, cold and hungry and lonely, so he clung to every moment with her.

She pushed his top off his shoulders - he hadn’t realised that she had undone the buttons, nor that he was somehow now lying above her. He pulled his arms out of it and saw her smoothly pull off her Quidditch shirt. They paused for a moment, her soft fingers tracing the oval shaped scar over his heart and the faded remains of the bruise across his chest, he taking his time to let his eyes wander across her collarbone, throwing shadows in the warm light, and down…

They were breathing heavily. They knew that any further would be the furthest they had gone. There was only so much you dared risk hidden in bushes by the lake or in broom cupboards in Hogwarts.

‘Are you sure?’ he whispered to her. 

Her hand softly moved up from his chest, against his cheek, and then gently pushing his hair out of his eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered back. ‘Are you?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

He kissed her again; his brain seemed to melt into a kind of fogginess. His hands moved down and found her breast - tonight there would be no fumbling with the clasp like the time they had found an empty broom cupboard, she was gloriously topless, and he was free to feel the softness of her skin there, feel her lips part in a small gasp underneath his. 

He kissed down her neck and onto her collar bone. In the low light and without his glasses he could only just see the dapple of freckles across it, the slight darkening of her pale skin. Her hands slid down along his waist, and he realised she was undressing him further. 

I should be savouring every moment of this, he thought, but her sweet, flowery scent had intoxicated him, and all he could do was kiss her as his hands, quite without his instruction, caressed and cupped the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple. He moved down, and kissed them, sucking in the way he knew she liked, savouring the way they felt pressed against him. 

He was barely aware of what was going on, he felt her hips rise against him, that familiar feeling of her thighs against him, but then suddenly she was pulling off her pyjama bottoms, and he sat up and moved aside to give her the space to discard them. 

She was left in nothing but her black cotton pants, and he in his boxers, and he stared at her, drinking in her perfection. His hand moved along her, delighting in the hourglass dip of her waist, resting on her hips. 

Ginny was gazing at him with such intensity he wondered if he was secretly dreaming, if the storm hadn’t kept him up at all. As though to prove him otherwise, there was another flash of lightning, and she was illuminated in silver. 

‘Take them off,’ she told him. It was a quiet command, but a command nonetheless, and with his hands trembling in anticipation, he slid the cotton off her hips and down her legs. She sat up, and kicked them off, taking his face in her hands and pulling him down to kiss him deeply once again. 

He found himself sinking down to her, one hand at her hip, the other at her back, and then when he kissed her jaw and neck again she rolled her head back in pleasure and he felt her soft hair brush against his arm. ‘I love you,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘Ginny, I love you.’ 

‘I love you, Harry,’ she whispered back. 

It was as overwhelming to him as the first time she had said it, the only person who ever had, and he craved her - it was impossible to get close enough, to kiss her enough, to touch enough of her. 

Her hands were tugging at his boxers now, it was like a jolt of electricity every time her fingers touched the sensitive skin beneath, his own fingers moved between her thighs and she gasped. 

The warmth of her, the velvet softness, the way she shuddered and writhed beneath him, raising her hands to entangle them in her own hair, desperate to stay quiet. It was though he had been hit by a thousand stunning spells, he couldn’t think of anything, all he could do was watch her as though it were all a dream, listening to the incredible sounds she was making. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he found himself saying, because he no longer had control over any part of himself, not his hands nor his brain nor his mouth. 

Her hands found him, and he nearly fell onto her in pleasure; she gripped him and moved her hand smoothly. As always, Ginny knew what she wanted, and it made him gasp. This was better than doing it alone, better by far, not least because he no longer had to imagine the sensations she was showering him with.

She pulled him closer. Now he was nestled between her legs and she was kissing his shoulder, running her hands down his back. ‘Please,’ she whispered. 

He paused. He had never been more fearful of something he wanted - and he did want it, desperately, but was sure he would do it all wrong, too gentle or too hard, or do something weird without realising it wasn’t normal or it hurting her- She reached down and guided him. He slowly pushed forward, his eyes staring into hers. 

She gasped, and he he froze - it was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done, he wanted nothing more than to continue. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked hoarsely. 

‘Yes - yes,’ she breathed. 

‘Does it hurt?’ 

‘No, please-’ He felt her hands slide down from his lower back and pull him in closer. Now he gasped, shuddering, almost a noise, overwhelmed. 

They moved together, he couldn’t think, he drowned in her - their heavy gasps and sighs and her slight whimpers hidden by the noise of the sky outside being rent apart. Later, he would look back with frustration that he didn’t remember every detail, but how could he? This was more than sunlit days, more than firewhiskey, it was oblivion beyond anything he could think of. 

The way she arched into him, the way her legs rose to wrap around his hips, the way her hands roamed, the way she bit down onto his shoulder to stop from crying out - it was all over far too soon. He couldn’t help the deep cry that came from his lips as a great shudder coursed through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. 

‘Sorry,’ he blurted out, and she laughed, breathing deeply herself. 

‘Don’t apologise. That was amazing. You’re amazing.’ 

He didn’t want to roll off her, not yet. He wanted to stay in that moment forever. He reached up and held it against the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her freckled cheek. ‘I didn’t hurt you?’

‘No, you were so gentle,’ she said softly, smiling. ‘It didn’t hurt at all.’ She ran her hands up his arms. ‘You’re trembling,’ she said. 

He felt himself blush, and he smiled back at her. _I’ll get better at it_ , he wanted to tell her, _I’ll last longer and do anything to hear you make those noises again and again, I just want to do it forever, I can’t believe I found you, I can’t believe we’re here._

But his brain had reconnected to his mouth, and instead he just kissed her again, gently, softly, hoping that she would understand his gratitude. A sleepiness was overcoming him, a warm, peaceful sensation that made him feel as though everything were right in the world. He rolled off her, but immediately pulled her close to him, and she nestled in the crook of his arm. 

‘I have to go back to my room,’ she murmured. 

‘What?’ he muttered back, hugging her closer. ‘No.’ 

‘I can’t be discovered here in the morning, and I’ll fall asleep if I stay.’ 

He pressed his lips against her forehead, and breathed in, the scent of her hair sending him into a dizzy glee again. ‘I’ll get up early to wake you,’ he promised. ‘Don’t go, or I’ll wake up tomorrow and assume it was a dream.’ 

She grinned, and sat up to straddle him. She leant down and kissed him, and then quietly said, ‘good, that means you’ll get to relive it all tomorrow night.’ Then she kissed him again, and left, the last of the lightning illuminating her fram as she pulled her discarded shirt back on. 

The door clicked closed, and Harry could swear he could still feel the linger of her lips on his as he sank into a warm and heavy sleep.


End file.
